Kitchen no longer resembles crime scene

June 10, 2007

A few mornings ago, I got out of bed, turned on "Madagascar" in the VCR and started dancing around to the song "I Want to Move It, Move It" with the animated animals. I guess I am missing my granddaughters. After 10 weeks of living with us, their new house in the South Bend area finally became available. A few reminders of their stay -- that sometimes seemed more like a stampede -- remain. A Pooh bear bib ... a baby doll who could be charged for indecent exposure ... a couple of Dr. Seuss books ... and, yes, the movie "Madagascar." Whenever anybody got whiny (including me) or grouchy, we could put in that movie's signature song and jump around the room like a bunch of monkeys. My 3-year-old granddaughter may be a better dancer than I am, but I can still hold my own with my 18-month-old. That was fun. A lot of their stay was. I will not miss the kitchen table looking like a crime scene after breakfast or my backyard resembling a Toys "R" Us store hit by a tidal wave, but I already miss being greeted with "Paw!" in the morning. They were supposed to call me Grumps, but Paw will work just as well. Just to be ornery, I use different names for my older granddaughter, too. Her name is Madelyn -- or The Madster -- but I often call her Gertrude. With a look of disgust, she usually snaps back, "I not Gertrude." And sometimes, she just ignores my childish ways, probably learning that evil trick from my wife and daughter. But then one time I happened to say, "That Gertrude is one bad little girl." Madelyn quickly replied: "No, Gertrude is good." Gotcha. I do have some good points as a grandfather, too. I can still change a diaper -- first base and third base come together in the middle ... home plate goes up to second base ... start over if there's a rainout. I can still read a book, especially if it has a lot of pictures of goofy-looking mammals. I can still demonstrate the proper techniques of nap taking. My habit of throwing food up in the air and catching it in my mouth has been outlawed, though. Of course, the question my wife and I keep asking ourselves is, "How did we raise three kids who are only three years apart and keep our sanity?" Kids, I guess, I could handle. Grandkids, meanwhile, are a handful. Oh, well. My wife and I are back to an empty nest again, and our cat, The Mad Kitster, can finally take a break from being in constant attack mode around my daughter and son-in-law's dog, Max. I guess I can take a break from all the action as well. I think the granddaughters were ready for a rest from me, too. When I dropped in to their new house just after they had moved, The Madster gave me one of those looks that pretty much said, "How the heck did you find us?" "Hey, how you doing, Gertrude?" I teased. She just shook her head. "This is my house," she later told me while I was making myself at home. "I know," I said. "I can tell by the toys that are already all over the floor." And this time, I was happy just to let them lie. Bill Moor's column appears on Tuesdays, Wednesdays, Fridays and Sundays. Contact him at bmoor@sbtinfo.com, or write him at the South Bend Tribune, 225 W. Colfax Ave., South Bend, IN 46626; (574) 235-6072. Bill's new book of columns, "Moor or Less Volume 2: Old Soldiers, Good Neighbors and Loyal Dogs," is now available at the Tribune's front counter, Borders and most Martin's Super Markets.Bill MoorBill Moor is a Tribune columnist.